


Reenactors, Chapter 2

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Series: Reenactors [2]
Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the outset of the engagement between the <i>Shannon</i> and <i>Chesapeake</i>, Jack and Stephen find themselves inexplicably on the deck of <i>USS Constitution</i> in Boston two hundred years in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reenactors, Chapter 2

**_2 June 2013, Day 2_ **

**_Upon reflexion, I do not believe we are in hell, nor do I now believe us dead. At the very least, this is no conception of hell nor death that I have ever encountered. It appears that we possess our same corporeal existence as yesterday morning. Jack’s scars are identical and in the same states of recovery, though it seems his arm knit admirably yesterday. We can and do experience pleasure. I feel no separation from God nor inability to pray. Neither of us is in any incapacitating degree of pain. I am still considering the possibility that I have gone mad, but I must reserve judgement._ **

**_It would appear that we have somehow arrived exactly two hundred years in the future in Boston, not far from where we last were located in 1813, on the deck of the_ Shannon _. In many ways, this eventuality is less comprehensible than any other alternative. Jack is far less disconcerted than am I or perhaps he puts on a better show of it. Perhaps his head injury was more severe than mine and this just seems part of some delirium and he is happy to go along with it, as long as nothing truly dreadful happens. Perhaps, too, the reality has not yet sunk in for him. I feel it all the more acutely as Diana and I were about to be wed in mere hours. I cannot bear to contemplate the conclusion she must have drawn when our absence was realized._**

**_The degree of change in the world, or at least, in America, is verging on the incomprehensible. Perhaps the disordering of my equilibrium is from this change and not an actual disruption of my humours or other madness. Perhaps any person of our time, no matter how sane, would be similarly thrown entirely off-balance. In describing it, the problem is even knowing where to begin. At least some of the houses and buildings on Bunker Hill and around the Navy Yard retain some recognisability. I scarce have the words to describe what we have seen. I shall endeavour as the days go by to try to make some systematic observations, but even making sense of it in any manner will be an extreme challenge._ **

**_It is not the people, though yea, they seem to be extremely different as well, different from any I have ever seen in any corner of the world, far more exotic to us than say, those in India. There appear to be people of every country of the world, hue of skin and condition here, including many that I could not begin to guess their origins. They display all manner of dress, all manner of body ornamentation, of style of hair (though it would appear that wigs are now unknown.) Indeed, I should assume it is for this reason that Jack and I excite virtually no curiosity whatever, very few stares, truth be told, our general appearance being of little interest. Our clothes are mildly interesting, but like the people on the_ Constitution _, everyone seems to assume that it is because we are reenactors, a term I am uncertain as to the exact definition. We may openly stare at those around us and this arouses virtually no response as well, as the majority of people take no notice of us._**

**_The artifacts of man seem to have changed the very world itself. Truly, only plants and animals are unchanged, but there seems to have been a severe diminution of both. I would say the only birds in abundance I have seen are gulls. I wonder what has changed so very dramatically. Sure, some of it may be that Boston itself appears now to be perhaps fifty times the size that it was when we were here and surely, the loss of trees and open land has decreased the number of animals, but it amazes me that even vermin are scarce to be seen, compared to what, for example, I knew of London or Paris._ **

**_Today we walked a good deal on the “Freedom Trail” which at least conveniently ends at the ship. Jack managed to procure several maps. Tourists were asking him questions and giving him money after he answered them. He found it most disconcerting to talk to a fellow Englishman and there was a distance of years far more impenetrable than a million miles. I think I saw tears in his eyes. The bonhomie which is so much a part of his life was gone in this interaction._ **

**_We had a large amount of American currency in hand and Jack saw a building that said “Old Navy” and we went in. It had nothing to do with any navy either of us have ever known (French, American, British, Spanish, Dutch, et al.), indeed, it seemed to be some sort of civilian store. We each bought two suits of clothes similar to those worn by the locals, so that we should not stand out so much. We bought heavy blue trousers made of something similar to canvas, small clothes that are called “shorts” and some stockings. The shirts were more problematical. We notice that most men are wearing shirts with a one quarter sleeve which neither Jack nor I had any desire to wear. I did buy some because they were inexpensive, put one on and found it to be one of the most comfortable garments I have ever worn. Printed under the neck it read "100% cotton Made in Bangladesh,” forsooth. They had many with strange images and words on them but I chose plain black and white ones. Jack only wanted long sleeved shirts but it was hard to find one to fit him, him especially with his arm wound. The long sleeved shirts are cut much more closely than any we have known which is near unbearable for his arm and there was limited selection given that it is the beginning of summer. We must look elsewhere. Jack was quite affronted when the clerk told him that they had no “pirate shirts” similar to the one he was wearing. He flushed and I took his arm and gave him a significant look as it was obvious that no offense was intended. I did convince him to buy some of these quarter sleeved shirts in which to sleep, oversized so as to put no pressure on his arm._ **

**_We have no physic with us for Jack’s arm and I must find an apothecary to fetch him some laudanum and buy other medicines. He is so very stoic, he never breathes a word of complaint though it must pain him, even as it improved greatly with our foray into the future. Jack needs to investigate getting his uniform cleaned as it shows dirt all too easily and there is no Killick to do it for him. At least we may pass in the streets now without any notice._ **

**_Last night, I discussed our situation with Jack and suggested we adopt aliases. On the face of it, there is no compelling reason, but my background and experience would suggest the wisdom of choosing such a course of action. There is no compelling reason for us to use our actual names, either as we possess nothing that so doing so would make our lives easier. Jack does not even have his commission on his person. I suggested that he be Captain John A. Melbury, the name will be easy for him to remember and is close enough to “Aubrey” that it should not raise an eyebrow for Mrs. Adams, who was very flustered when she met us. I have chosen to be Stephen M. FitzGerald as it is a far more common name in Boston apparently than any Catalan name which marks me even more as some kind of exotic foreigner. I have already used my alias and have had people ask me if I was one of “the FitzGeralds.” I assumed they meant related to Lord Edward and found there was a prominent local politician of the past in this state who was a FitzGerald called “Honey Fitz,” a mayor of Boston and apparently a grandfather to some American president. America is a large and very powerful country now, apparently one of the, if not the, most powerful countries on earth and this relation of Mr. Honey FitzGerald was the first Roman Catholic president, an event almost as surprising, from what I have read, as the fact that the current President of America is a man whose father was apparently from Africa._ **

**_I went back to the library today and a very kind and most obliging lady who works there helped me. I told her that we were tourists here for the summer to participate in the 1812 war commemoration events and that we had been robbed immediately after arriving, that Jack is a naval historian and I am a historian of Georgian England. I suspect that she believes this is not the whole truth, but it is of little interest to her. She gave me membership in the club of the library and documents, explained the machine I saw there the first day, a “computing machine” that apparently has access to vast amounts of books of information, displayed one page at a time (though pages may be stacked) indeed, more information than I could ever actually conceive of, more than all of the libraries of our time combined. The use of this machine is free to anyone with a membership in the club of the library for an hour at a time and then one must queue again. I am astonished. The computing machine is operated with some type levers that are buttons pressed with a finger with a letter or number printed on them which appears in front of one on a glass similar to that television we saw in the inn. There is a ovoid device as well that connects with the computing machine and moves an arrow on the glass, but I have yet to master it and lose my sense of where to look when I attempt it. We may also borrow as many books as we please and remove them from the library, a fact I find most astonishing._ **

**_One of the clerks told me for my first information search that I should get the help of this lady, whose name is Dr. Beales, for she could find anything if it were to be found. She is apparently the president of the state library association, a great honour. She is not the head of this "public library" in which she works, though, as she works only at night and on the weekends, having a full time job at a library at Harvard University, one of ninety libraries of that institution._ **

**_My first point of research was to learn what happened in the engagement between the_ Shannon _and the_ Chesapeake _and to see if there were any information that would address our situation. There was none._ Shannon _prevailed in the engagement, which lasted only fifteen minutes. Britain, indeed, won the War of 1812._**

**_I asked this lady if there were any way of finding out who was on the_ Shannon's _ship's roster when it landed in Halifax. She managed to find the_ Naval Gazette _with the details, from the end of June, 1813 on her computing machine for that period. Neither Diana, Jack nor I were listed, but that is hardly surprising, as we were not aboard in any official capacity. I asked her if it were possible to do a search of British records concerning "Diana Villiers" from 1795 to 1813 and she found nothing, save Diana's wedding announcement for her first marriage. I told this to Jack and he became extremely vexed with me, as angry as I have ever seen him and forbade me to have any searches done concerning himself, Sophie or his children. I cannot blame him. Somewhere there is a death notice that it would momentarily destroy me to read, though I know without a scintilla of doubt that it exists. I would rather go on not knowing._**

**_Jack told me he will read nothing that pertains to our specific situation. He will read of things that happened before or after but not anything concerning anyone whom he knows to have been alive at the time of our transport to the future. He said he should be happy to read a book about Nelson, since Nelson has been dead for seven years and he will read books about the Royal Navy of today or even 1880, but nothing that could possibly mention the fate of anyone he knows. I suppose he is wise. I will not seek out such information about my friends and acquaintances, either, it is just pointless heartbreak, though I did learn that George III died in 1820. I do not dare breathe a word of it to Jack._ **

**_Women, it would seem, have become the near equals of men. In every place Jack and I have gone, we have seen women doing the same kinds of work as men. Not that we have been to so many places yet, but it is quite astounding to see them everywhere we have gone, engaged in the same types of work as men. They wear trousers or short pants or short skirts that expose their legs to varying degrees and it would appear that none wear hats or gloves or a cloak in the early summer’s warmth. For that matter, few male civilians appear to wear hats now either, the only common hat being a close-fitted cap with a brim like a duck’s bill protruding from the front, many with a letter or picture above the bill. They wear no frock coat, no waistcoat, no neckcloth. They wear for the most part the aforementioned quarter sleeved shirts and virtually only long trousers or short pants, breeches are apparently no more. Few wear stockings, many wear some type of sandals on their feet. The American Navy officers dress more formally but not in uniforms that we should recognize in any way from the past._ **

**_There is so much I do not understand but I have a huge pile of books and Jack and I slipped back into the ship to sleep. We may borrow as many as we please. I asked the librarian if there were any books about people travelling in time and she answered that there are many such works of fiction. I checked one novel out, entitled T_ he Time Machine, _by a Mr. H.G. Wells. Apparently, the phenomenon is as unknown in actual reality now as it was in our own time. I am troubled by the metaphysical burden of our situation, which is completely beyond any capacity I possess to comprehend the meaning or the mechanics of our presence here._**

 

"Miss Beales, you have been so very kind," Stephen said, looking at his new Boston Public Library card and the research she had printed out for him.

 "It is Ms. Beales or Dr. Beales, but please call me Katharine," she said.

 "Are you a physician?" Stephen asked. She laughed.

 "No, I'm afraid not, more of a dilettante, if you ask my mother. I have doctorates in linguistics, zoology and English literature. I am a librarian also at Harvard, so it’s no great accomplishment.” She said, in response to Stephen’s quizzical glance. “Tuition remission. So, Mr. FitzGerald, you must bring your friend over to my desk and I will be happy to get him set up as well. He knows more about naval history than anyone I've ever heard speak. Listening to him is like being at a War College lecture.”

"He is an expert in his field and very highly regarded in his own country. Please call me Stephen, Katharine.” He said and bowed. “Have you books about people who travel to the future?”

"That is a very popular topic of science fiction. Have you already read the _Time Machine_ by H.G. Wells? That is considered to be the foundation of all later novels and I recommend it, unless you would prefer something more contemporary. It’s over there in Young Adult Classic novels.” She said, gesturing. “They are arranged by author’s last name.”

“Ah, I see. I thank you very much.” Stephen said and he bowed again and went to look at the shelf.

“That woman, Jack, is most extraordinary. She is a librarian here and at a university as well and holds at least three advanced degrees.” Stephen said. “She is a veritable library unto herself.”

“Well, ask her where we can get a blessed decent cup of coffee.” Jack said grumpily. He was famished and still extremely agitated by the idea that Stephen had possibly seen information about Sophie’s life after his disappearance from the deck of the _Shannon_.

“She said we should go to the coffee shop three blocks from here. Tis called Starbucks.”

“Did we not meet a Starbuck whilst we was here? I mean, before.” Jack said. “Before” was 1813, before yesterday at six p.m.

“Yes, I believe so. Perhaps this Starbuck is a relation, a descendent?” They got up and Stephen clutched his books and they left.

Jack’s sense of direction was superior to Stephen’s and he found Starbucks without the directions of the librarian. Stephen was hindered by walking extremely slowly as he was carrying a stack of six books whilst he read the seventh. Jack was impatient and took half of the books from him.

They went in the door. The darkness was comforting, it was the first place they had been besides the ship that had the lack of illumination to which they were accustomed. Jack inhaled the scent of coffee appreciatively as they stood in line. He eyed the pastries in the case.

"I am more than peckish. Two dollars and eighty-five pence -- is that a lot of money, Stephen?"

"Faith, I do not know. But we have plenty, so feast to your belly's delight, enough that we might find a chop house without you fainting from hunger on the way."

"What is that?"

"It says a scone, it is a Scottish cake, sweet and made with cream."

"Yes, sir?" The cashier said to Jack.

"Two coffees, if you please."

"Brewed? Or café americano?" The cashier asked.

"What is usual?" Jack asked Stephen, who looked up at the menu.

"Brewed, I should think." Stephen said, looking at the prices.

"Brewed then."

"Size?" Jack looked at Stephen.

"For all love, let us have the largest. And two of the scones each, my dear."

They sat down at a table.

"My God, tis weak." Jack said. "I should prefer stronger and less." He examined the logo on the paper cup and frowning at the split tail of the siren.

"I have had far worse." Stephen said, with unusual equanimity, the caffeine and sugar hitting his bloodstream quickly."Sure, it could be stronger, but it goes down most smooth and amiably."

"We must find a place to live if we are ever to have a decent cup of strong coffee. We cannot possibly cook anything whilst aboard. Perhaps that lady in the library shall know where we may obtain lodgings."

"Aye." Stephen said relieved. Jack could steal aboard any ship afloat as unseen as any of the rats in Pompey. Stephen did not relish the prospect of attempting to ascend a backstay at all, let alone surreptitiously. He dreaded the possibility of yet another humiliating unplanned dip in the drink.

**_3 June 2013 -- Day 3 -- Day off from the ship_ **

**_I asked the very kind lady at the library, Dr. Beales, about getting some kind of identity documents and she gave me the name and direction of someone to see, who came and met us this very afternoon. It seems that false papers will always exist, given the need for them and the money to purchase them. We were able to easily procure them, the two most important ones apparently being something called a “green card” and a government issued number to allow us to legally work and get paid. We will be able to get some type of government identification card shortly as well, when we have a direction, now called an "address" and other documents made to order, some paper attesting to our births, mine having occurred supposedly in Ireland and Jack having been born in London._ **

**_It would seem Dr. Beales has some very definite theory about Jack and myself, of which I have not the least idea. I believe she gave me more than one significant look and I can only guess at the meaning, that it had something to do with my being Irish. I believe she is of Irish ancestry as well, telling me her maiden name was O’Brien. I have not the least idea how a librarian, a woman at that, should know how false papers may be procured, but this society is a very different reality from anything I have ever encountered. I cannot ask too many questions without being expected to produce my own answers and I do not know what I could say that would be credible in the least._ **

**_Katharine, as she asked me to call her, is so very kind and has been an invaluable guide to deciphering twenty-first century life and explaining what Jack and I must have and what we must do in order to function. I have already seen her do this with immigrants who do not speak English, as she speaks Spanish, Portuguese, French and Italian fluently. Her Portuguese is far better than mine, as she apparently studied in Brazil during college. When I told her I was a historian at Trinity in Dublin (though on sabbatical), she told me that she could get me a Visiting Scholar borrowing card from the university where she works._ **

**_Dr. Beales offered to help us to find a place to live and said that we should plan on spending about $1500 a month. Not good. I am nervous about us continuing to stay on the ship though, about discovery which could mean losing our livelihood and imprisonment. Especially since the ship is closed to the public on Mondays, which means a very long day of hiding in the breadroom._ **

 

Katharine Beales looked at Stephen sympathetically.

“Most people use this website to find an apartment,” She said, pointing to Craig’s List. "Have you checked the _Boston Irish Reporter_? They have classifieds and they are online. There is also a website called IrishNetworkBoston.org. that might be of great use to you. Have you not met anyone else here from Ireland? Have you gone to Sullivan’s yet on Main Street and spoken to the bartender, Marty? It’s six blocks away. He is there every night but Saturday.”

“Katharine, Jack’s and my papers were stolen, as I explained. For various reasons, it will be extremely difficult to get them replaced with the expediency required. Do you know of any way we can get American documents in the interest of us being able to find lodgings before our documents can be replaced?” She bit her lip, took a slip of paper and wrote an address and phone number in pencil.

“I’m no fan of the Patriot Act.” She said. “Of course, there are bad people in the world, but everyone deserves a second chance, assuming they aren’t violent criminals. Call this number and ask to speak to Raymond. He may know someone who can help you. Since you have no phone, so you may use mine to call to arrange to meet with him. He lives in South Boston, but will meet with you up here, since you have no car. You must tell him that I gave you his number, but say Katharine O’Brien from East 4th Street, from St. Brigid’s. That was my maiden name.”

“You are so very kind,” Stephen said. “I do not know how I can ever thank you.”

“Check out a lot of books.” Katharine said.

 

**_4 June 2013 -- Day 4_ **

**_Today I attempted to find an apothecary. There is now, apparently, no such thing. I was directed to a shop by a passerby that was called CVS, pronounced as the name of the letters. The gentleman said it was a “drug store.”_ **

**_This shop, like the Old Navy place was as large as a church or armoury inside; immense and filled with shelves of more ephemera than I can possibly describe or conceive, a truly dizzying array in all sorts of colours and shapes of containers, the majority apparently having nothing to do with medicines. It smelled strongly of not pleasing scent. I could not look too closely at what there was for it made me as prone to swoon as the television in the inn. No one could understand my speech there though I spoke English to them and I was directed to the back which had the word PHARMACY in large letters near the ceiling._ **

**_I asked a clerk if I might purchase laudanum. The gentleman could not understand me and another person, a lady, was directed to speak with me. She wore an insignia with the words “ THUY TRAN, PHARMACIST.” I asked again and she could not understand. I tried to speak with her in Latin and again, she did not understand. She gave me paper and a modern writing instrument, some type of pen with words written on it, most prominently “AMBIEN” and I printed “alcoholic tincture of laudanum, 1000 drams” on the paper, not sure how much it should cost._ **

**_This lady took the paper and read it, left me, went to a computing machine and stood there for a few minutes and came back and asked if I had a prescription. I said that this was my prescription, that I am a physician and she asked me if I did not have a prescription pad with my license number and "Dee Ee Ey" number printed on it. I said I had none with me, that they had been left in England and she apologized profusely and said that she could not assist me but asked what type of pain I sought to treat and suggested that I purchase naproxen sodium, ibuprofen and acetaminophin to see if they would work, pointing them out to me, which I did, a small bottle of each one to try with Jack and see if it agrees with him._ **

**_I wrote another list and gave it to her for the physic I should use with Jack and she apologized and said they had none of it. No antimony, no black hellebore, no chamomile, no senna, no hartshorn, no sal-volatile, no elemental mercury. She said she had no idea where I could purchase the same._ **

**_I resolved to go to the library and see what books of medicine they have and I have obtained two or three to peruse in the morrow. Clearly, the practice of physic has changed profoundly. I do not know how long it will take for me to apprehend the progress of two hundred years, but I shall make the attempt._ **

**_I did give Jack the medicine as directed on the bottle and he said it decreased the pain in his arm substantially. He seemed to fall asleep much faster tonight. I am cursing myself for yet again not having remembered to find wax for my wax balls for my ears. The cot is none too comfortable and should he fall asleep before me, the drone of his snores will keep me awake hours._ **

**_I explained to Dr. Beales that in Europe, I practice herbal medicine and showed her my list and asked her if she knew a place in Boston I might purchase these elements for me to compound physic for Jack. She showed me something on her computing machine so extraordinary that I was quite speechless. As vast as the shop I entered was, it would seem, as indicated by my failure to procure the elements of physic I sought, that these modern people seek far more materially than what is in a cavernous emporium such as the CVS bazaar and she showed me that on the computing machine one may go to a book and order to be sent through the post virtually anything in material existence through a book called, I believe, “the Amazon.” Perhaps the appellations used are different than those of our times, but twas most astonishing, truly inconceivable. This one book, “the Amazon,” it seems has quite literally millions of individual types of articles for sale, perchance more than the entirety that existed in the whole of the world of our time available to anyone at any time with a computing machine and the monies for purchase. Dr. Beales said she had read that the inventory is over twenty-two million different types of things. She told me that this book, "the Amazon," was originally a seller of books and that they sell over two million different titles of books in America alone. I hope I hid my amazement sufficiently, for no one in this twenty-first century appears to find this situation remarkable in the least. The people should be the best educated and most civilised and genteel that have ever existed in the history of humanity with so much available to them so easily, but I regret to say this does not appear to be the case._ **

 

"What is this?" Jack said, looking at the white pill in Stephen's hand.

"It is twenty-first century physic. Take it with some biscuits and water." Jack did as Stephen told him. He was always an entirely compliant patient as long as he was not in the midst of an engagement. Stephen took a moment to examine Jack's head, particularly the spot where he had been struck by the spar. "Does this hurt?"

"Not especially. It is a bit sore, but you cannot have a spar bounce off your skull without a little soreness. What about you?" Stephen's head had been subjected to major abuse three days beforehand, first from Pontet-Canet and later in the engagement. Jack only knew about the latter. Stephen's head had a ringing pain that had slowed to a dull roar in the last two days. His ribs still hurt every time he rolled over, but like Jack, he was an expert at ignoring that which was not incapacitating.

"I shall dose myself in the name of science." Stephen said, taking a naproxen sodium tablet, the same as he had given Jack.

"I never conceived how much I would miss the ship's company, being in port and alone in the evenings as I have never been on a ship that was in a nautical limbo as this one is." Jack said. "I know you should point out that she is over two hundred years old and not actually functionally seaworthy, but I think she could feel like a real ship if she had her people to care for her. I never realized how much a part of a ship's soul her people are. Bereft of them, her physical form is almost as much an empty vessel as a corpse, even if she is not leaving port."

"What a poetical notion, soul. I quite agree."

"She is so huge and so empty. She could easily house four hundred, her complement was four hundred and fifty and instead, we are two."

"The Americans have done well to keep her afloat all this time. She has had no real duty for over one hundred and forty years. Did you read in the brochure that _Victory_ has been in dry dock for almost a hundred years and that is why _Constitution_ is the oldest ship in the water, though _Victory_ was far older?” Jack scowled.

"That's the Admiralty for you. If _Victory_ don't mean that much to the Royal Navy when it comes to saving a hundred guineas here and a hundred guineas there, why should my great great great grandchildren give a tinker's dam for what I did? She could have been the ship of Theseus, Stephen. She could have gone on forever because Trafalgar was the greatest victory the Royal Navy ever had, according to that book you gave me. Nelson was perhaps the most significant factor as to why our descendants do not now speak French. He gave his life and the only surprise is that _Victory_ did not end up as firewood." Jack said bitterly.

"Jack, you could have a great great great grandson in the Navy. There is no reason to assume that posterity does not appreciate your efforts. You have no idea and neither do I." Jack frowned.

“There is much in what you say, Stephen. No, I suppose I don’t. There is no point grumbling over it. It does give one pause, though.” Jack said somberly.


End file.
